Conscience
by Bellows-Lizard
Summary: The mind is a complex and powerful place where hopes, fears and loyalties lie. If you use it right it can be a powerful tool. Just remember to keep your conscience about you, and always watch your back.
1. Chapter 1

There was something strange happening in the cave. He was sure of it. The masked hero Nightwing massaged his temples in frustration, whoever was messing with the system was good. He frowned and squinted at the computer screen and replayed the tape. If this had been any other location than the Bat-Cave, he would have passed it over as a simple freeze in the cameras. But he was in the Cave. And the Cave's security tapes didn't glitch. It was so small he almost missed it but there! There it was; the bats on the ceiling, in a span of a few seconds, had completely changed positions.

He knew what this meant. Back when he had been Robin, and even still as Nightwing, The Batman and he had pulled the same trick as to not alert the guards in the security room of their presence. Simply tamper with the cameras via electronic signal to make them freeze on the same scene, or loop, until they had left and the signal was terminated. But when it was if anything had moved in that time it would look like the cameras simply shuddered for a few seconds. That was common in average systems but…the Bat-Cave was far from average. The Batman was very paranoid. And if anyone had managed to fool these cameras then kudos to them.

Nightwing sighed and ran his gloved fingers through dark raven hair. His task had been frustrating enough already but now this? How annoying. He swallowed then frowned. "…need a glass of water." He muttered to himself. 'As a matter of fact I think I'll just take the rest of the night off' he continued in his head. This can wait…probably. It was most likely nothing. Soon the masked vigilante had transformed back into civilian Dick Grayson in a pair of black sweats and a tight fitting white tank top. Just as he finished shoving his crime fighting attire into his rather scuffed up duffle bag, a curious mop of dark brown appeared from behind the computer banks.

"Hey Dick, leaving so soon?" The muscular teen inquired leaning casually against the massive contraption. Dick smiled softly. He understood. If the phrase itself wasn't enough then the pained look in the younger teen's eyes was. After The Batman had fired him, and made it quite obvious that he was not welcome back to boot, he had had little time to spend with his brothers. It's not like Bruce was ever even home either.

"Sure Timbo, I was gonna stay for dinner anyway so if you could close up shop while I go fetch everyone for dinner that would be great." He chirped while ruffling the younger male's hair.

"And by 'gather everyone' you mean 'I'll go get Damian and ask Alfred to cook something because all I can make is cereal and toast'." Tim mocked, pushing Dicks hand out of his hair.

"You betcha, kiddo." He chuckled then grabbed his things and headed upstairs, whistling some obscure tune under his breath.

"So, Master Richard, what brings you to Gotham?" The elderly English butler questioned as he set the food down at the table.

"Why, to keep tabs on my younger brothers while our guardian Bruce Wayne is on an out of country business trip of course." He stated while heaping a generous amount of mashed potatoes onto his plate. The youngest member of the table rolled his eyes and snorted.

"The _real _reason, Grayson."

Dick shoved a large piece of steak into his mouth and chewed. "Since Batman isn't here to keep the city safe he recruited Nightwing to help out."

Tim scowled. "We can go on patrol without him. It's not such a big deal….you're working on a case aren't you. Care to tell?"

Dick held up his finger in the 'one moment' sign and swallowed. "As you know we lost track of Doctor Crane a few months ago." Damian rested his elbows on the table, clearly interested, then removed them when he received a murderous glare from Alfred. Dick continued," and you know that Jervis Tetch has escaped from his lovely cell in Arkham last week as well." He cleared his throat and took a swig of water. "Two nights ago Dr. Crane showed up on our radar again, and according to a few well-placed sources he's been meeting up with our dear Mad Hatter."

Tim scratched his head. "Do you know what they're planning?"

Dick sighed deeply. "No. No we don't, but they have been pulling out large sums of money from all of their alias's bank accounts recently. And that kind of money floating around with those kinds of people is never good."

"Do you think it has anything to do with the recent Star Laboratory Break-ins? " Tim asked.

"I don't know but that's why I'm here while Daddy-bats is gone." He decided to hold off on his new findings about the mysterious happenings in their secret hideout until later.

"Can I go review the file?"

"Huh? Sure Tim. It's up on screen 3." Tim cleared his place and hurried down to the fortress of bats and solitude, leaving two used-to-be partners to finish eating together.

The younger pushed his food around on his plate before asking quietly, "So…how long do you think…you'll be staying?" Dick's eyes softened as he regarded his youngest brother. He did a lot for an almost-eleven year old, and had a lot of responsibility. Sometimes you just had to stop and remember that he needed the same things as anyone else his age. Most importantly, someone to lean on. A friend? Dick would like to consider himself Damian's friend, though even if Damian saw him as such Dick didn't think he'd say it straight out. He _was _the son of The Batman after all.

"I think I'll stick around for another week or so. If you want, we could take some time off and do something fun." He offered, resting a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Don't be ridiculous, Grayson." The young Robin scoffed, brushing him off. "Crime never 'takes time off' and so neither will we." He walked off to his room and Dick sat back and smiled. He'd take that as a yes.

Later that night at around 2:00am, Dick found himself to have fallen asleep on the couch watching reruns of 'The Jetsons'. He woke to the sound of soft footfalls padding behind him_. _

Being adopted by Bruce Wayne, later discovered to be Batman, was one of the best things that ever happened to young Dick Grayson. Training to become Robin was a close second. Unfortunately for him, Batman and Robin was more of a night job and you ended up rarely getting sleep during the night if any. After a hard night of patrol the thing you wanted most of all was a nice deep sleep with no interruptions. Another downside to being The Batman's protégé was the fact that heavy sleeping was not accepted. You must be prepared for any situation at all times and you can't do that if you sleep through it. Also ninjas. Don't sleep through ninjas. So he had also had strict training for proper sleeping patterns. Also known as, Getting-almost-no-sleep-at-all-because-you're-alwa ys-waking-up-at-the-smallest-sound Training. Lucky him. And thus is how Dick found himself awake and peeking over the couch at a very disgruntled and flustered looking Tim. That was odd. Tim was usually a very composed person. Dick shrugged it off as 'Tim was overworking himself again' and gratefully fell back asleep just after the theme for the original 'Scooby Doo' finished playing.

Tim politely excused himself from the table and rushed down to the cave. Two Arkham prisoners have escaped and have been seen working together? How could Dick take this so lightly? Then again, Dick never had seen _anything_ as much of a problem. He was _way _too happy for this line of work. He shook his head and chuckled, pulling on the old grandfather clock. People are always telling me that I'm too serious, he mused to himself. Maybe I _could _gain something by taking a leaf out of Dick's book. It would certainly make him more satisfied with life. He sighed and flopped down onto Batman's large swivel chair. Dick was…his own breed of person. And he never seemed to stay down for long. Tim chuckled softly; Dick's personality was almost inhuman. And I know I'll never be him…

After reading the case file on monitor 3 he had gotten sucked into a few others and had been making some real progress on one of the Falcone's more recent operations when his mind started to wander. It wandered back to Dick. His thoughts passed over his previous musings and decided that there was _one _thing that Dick always struggled to get up over. Death.

Dick was most certainly a people person. He loved his family and his team mates and always took their deaths as something he himself had done wrong. Maybe it had something to do with his past. Did he still blame himself for the death of his parents? Did he still think, 'if only I had done _something_'? He wondered if that mindset had always carried over to the loss of a friend or loved one. If only I had done _something._ He remembered the night when he had found his father lying in a pool of his own blood, a boomerang sticking out of his chest. He was _Robin_, freaking sidekick to the Batman, and yet had not been able to do a thing. He remembered holding in those feelings of guilt and blame until they almost overwhelmed him. They consumed him and only after he began making mistake after mistake on the field of battle had he finally sought assistance. He had gone to Dick and told him what he was feeling and Dick _had_ helped. Everyone always went to Dick. The mother-hen of the Teen Titans. Who was always willing to listen and lend a hand, but…Tim wondered, had anyone ever been there to comfort Dick?

Then it dawned on him. No one had ever comforted Nightwing because he seemed to be perfect; in no need of comfort or assistance; Golden boy and heir to the cowl. But no one had ever lived with Dick before. Sure they had lived with Nightwing, but never Dick Grayson, orphan acrobat. They had never seen that look in his eyes when he thought no one was watching. No one ever saw that, in fact Tim barley remembered looks like that because his happy-go-lucky attitude always seemed to take hold afterwards and it was hard to ever recall him being anything but cheerful. In fact the only time he think Dick had displayed anything close to that in public was when he had found out about Jason. Tim hadn't been around during that time but he remembers Raven talking about it once.

Dick had been injured somehow and had been left out of the loop about Batman and Robin. But when he searched the Batman's computer through the Titan's and found Jason's stats he had just broken down and cried right there onto the computer banks. She said he just kept clutching his head and screaming, but had refused any help. Would he still refuse help if his mind still harbored those thoughts? Did he still think about those things? Did he even—

A crash resounded from somewhere deep in the cave. "Dick?" He called out. Only a few choice swear words answered back. Tim frowned, Dick didn't swear, and he had always got onto Tim and Damian when they let one slip. He raked the cave and surrounding tunnel system with his eyes. It wasn't Damian…Damian's voice wasn't that deep. Bruce? No, Bruce wasn't to be home for another two weeks. Flipping up his cowl and snatching a few batarangs he slunk into the cover of darkness and began his search. Who would be sneaking around The Bat-cave? _Who would be sneaking around The Bat-cave?!_ All the people who knew of the cave's location would have no reason to sneak around! What was- who is- Tim's blood ran cold. There was only one person who would behave this way, but…he was gone. He had dropped off the face of the earth a few months back, right? He disappeared after the old apartment building collapsed. Bruce hadn't found- but that would mean-

He cut off his thoughts as another noise sounded from the armory. Staying close to the wall he approached the entryway. The only disturbance was a rack of throwing knives that had fallen over. No one was in sight. A diversion? Tim started, his back was exposed! Two powerful arms grabbed him from behind; one hand over his mouth, and other clamped tightly on his shoulder. Male, Tim decided, over six feet and very muscular. The way his weight was centered as well as they placement of his denoted experience. The hand on his shoulder tightened on a pressure point and he grunted, dropping the batarang. The man exhaled in approval and shoved him roughly against the cave wall, his hip pinning him to the uneven surface. The hand on his shoulder, which Tim had deducted, was gloved with a thick kind of armor mostly found in superhero gloves and costumes, slid down his arm.

"Hey baby bird." A gruff voice whispered into his ear making the hair rise on the back of his neck. "_Be my Robin."_ Tim's eyes widened behind the lenses of his cowl and he shuddered. _No. They had made up hadn't they? What was happening?!_

This was absolutely terrible! Where the hell was the cereal? Bruce Wayne was a billionaire, but he didn't even have cereal? Dick closed the cabinet with a scowl and sat down at the bar to eat his invisible and nonexistent breakfast.

"Dick, what are you _doing?_" A confused voice verbalized from behind him as soon as he had caught sight of Dick trying to eat out of an empty bowl.

Dick turned to face a rather tired looking Tim Drake and pouted. "You don't have any cereal."

Tim rolled his eyes and shuffled over to a cabinet Dick hadn't noticed before. He pulled it open and pulled out one of the most sugar laced cereal Dick thought he'd ever seen. "This good enough for you?" Tim enquired, sounding stressed. Dick nodded thankfully and poured almost the entire box into his bowl, and it spilled out onto the counter and floor. Tim grumbled under his breath and swept up the sugary heart attack from the tiles and plopped down beside Dick, hiding his head in his arms.

Dick stopped his sugar-inhalation to stare concernedly at the dark haired teen. "Everything go okay last night?" he inquired, recalling Tim's bedraggled appearance as he had stumbled out of the cave. It wasn't unheard of for Tim to overwork himself, but Dick didn't think that was the problem. Was it something he had done? Dick didn't like it when people he cared for were upset with him. It made him depressed. Tim was no exception, being his brother and all. "Hey, buddy what's wrong?"

"Nothing." Tim hissed from his arm-fort. And Dick, brushing Tim's hint of wanting to be left alone aside, continued to pester him until Tim relented. The revered Red Robin's head shot up, cobalt blue eyes burning with such frustration and inner turmoil that made even Nightwing back away in shock. They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul, and Timothy Drake's soul was wide open. He looked lost and confused; as if there was something he needed to get off of his chest but didn't know how to say it. "I ran into someone last night." He blurted. Dick knitted his eyebrows together but let the troubled youth continue without interruption. "I…he…we…talked. I just. Why haven't things changed between us? "

Dick Frowned, blue eyes glittering with thought. He sifted through the files of his mind, trying to pull a name from his subconscious. Nothing came up.

Tim continued in a shaky voice. "We've always fought you know? Like really badly. Hah, I remember I kicked him in the nuts once with my Red Robin boots. But…then we weren't fighting anymore. I think we came to an understanding but maybe I was just hoping…"

Tim didn't seem to want to disclose any more information on the incident so he just stood up, took Dick's empty cereal bowl away and headed back up to his room with dragging feet. Dick sighed softly, that was okay. If Tim just wanted someone to talk to, even if said person had not the slightest clue who he was talking about, then that was alright. He just hoped that the object of his younger brother's frustration would get his head out of his own ass long enough to explain what was going on, as it seemed Tim was just as at loss as Dick. And if not then maybe he'd just have to go and knock some sense into, whoever this guy was, himself. Dick just didn't realize that it would happen sooner than he thought.


	2. Chapter 2

The Batcave was cold. It was dark and the constant chirping of bats and the dripping of water was thoroughly annoying when listened to in great amounts. And man, had he been listening to it in great amounts. Two days to be exact. At least, he thought it was two days. It's kind of hard to tell in a dark cave where the only human occupants have maddening schedules.

He sat and pondered the amount of time spent in this god forsaken hell-hole until the metal beam his was perched upon began digging into his leg and he had to shift around; effectively breaking his train of thought. Not that his train of thought had been anywhere near productive in the first place. Nothing he'd done recently had been too terribly productive actually. He broke into the Batcave so that was something; though he did think that Nightwing was beginning to notice his tampering. Tampering of the security camera type that is.

What a terrible horrible plan this was. He would obviously be caught, knowing the gang as well as he did. Did he come up with this? I mean why was he even…even… A deep throbbing filled his mind and blotted out all of his thoughts. It crashed through him in a wave of red and sound, pulling apart the seams of his sanity and obscuring his very being. It snaked through his head, completely obliterating the ability to do anything else but curl up in pain. He didn't even notice when he'd fallen off the steel support beam and onto the not-so-soft training mats below. And as soon as it had started the pain faded leaving him slightly dazed but otherwise unharmed. Slowly, he sat up, panting, and then blinked a few times. Groaning, he stood stiffly from the floor and stumbled over to the large mass of computer banks and began to try and access the mainframe again.

The Batman, being the paranoid maniac that he is, changes his passwords every week. Unfortunately, for those without access to these phrases, the only other course of action would be to hack into the system. There was only one problem with that; Red Robin had encrypted it.

A whirring noise sounded to his left. The platform attached to the elevator was rotating, signaling the arrival of one of the bat-brats. Snarling a few words under his breath he unplugged his flash drive from the computer and used his grappling hook to swing to one of the steel support beams in one of the more shadowed areas of the cave. Sure enough Tim entered and sat himself down in the big black swivel chair. He cursed the fact that Tim's body was blocking the view of his hands as he typed in the passwords, but now that the young teen was _here_ he could use other methods to get them. Slowly, he lowered his body down from the beam. Just as he was about to let go his feet hit the side of a display case and the lid fell off.

Red Robin stood up. "Dick?"

He swore loudly then realizing his mistake, swore again. What was wrong with him? _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ From his hanging vantage point he saw Red Robin's boots take a few steps, stop, and then move off in his direction. Letting go of the beam, he landed with his knees bent and then grabbed one of the dumbbells he had been occupying his time with earlier and rolled it across the floor into a rack of throwing knives. Tim had been staying close to the wall before as not to expose his back, but in assuming his foe was in near the knives he had left the sanction of the stone to investigate; batarang at the ready.

Stepping on the sides of his feet as to walk silently, he crept up behind the vigilante and grabbed him from behind. He placed one hand over his mouth and other on his shoulder. Quickly, he positioned his legs to avoid any take downs or leg sweeps the youth might think of preforming and tightened his grip on Tim's shoulder pressure point. He grunted, dropping the batarang. Curling his lips up into a grimace like smile he exhaled in approval, and shoved him roughly against the cave wall, his hip pinning him to the uneven surface. He wanted to scare Tim. It would be fun.

"Hey baby bird." He whispered gruffly into the back of the vigilante's neck. "Be my Robin." Tim stiffened and sharply breathed in. Good; now he just needed to get those passwords.

Was everyone out to make him miserable this week? What, was "Aggravate Timothy Drake" a national holiday or something?!

Said teen groaned softly as he flopped onto one of the many couches in Wayne manor, throwing his tie over the back and onto the floor as he did so. And there was still much more work to do. However, some of it took greater priority over other portions. Like his confusing friend down in the Batcave for example. His objective was still unknown, a great frustration for Tim because he liked to consider himself a smart man and the interests of others, especially certain frustrating red heads, were normally not too difficult to determine. His inability to uncover what the man wanted was occupying his thoughts often, as he should have figured it out long before now.

Not to mention the fact that he had _hurt_ Tim in a way he didn't think someone _could _be hurt. They were friends almost, and he had just acted like the past year and a half had never even happened. Did he just hate Tim _that _much that he couldn't even _pretend _to play nice anymore? Was that all their relationship was? Tolerance?

"You're not a complicated man so why can't I figure out what you want?" Tim muttered to himself. Not that he could answer himself in the first place as he was directing his question to someone who wasn't even present. Apparently someone else was thinking along those same lines because a voice soon sounded from behind the couch in a questioning manor.

"Hey Timbo, who're ya talking to? Hopefully not yourself; we don't want anyone around here thinking you're going insane." Dick Grayson obviously thought his previous statement was amusing because a few chuckles soon followed after it.

Tim sighed and rolled his eyes. Typical. "Just the floor, Dick. It's quite the conversationalist." The cushion near Tim's feet sunk a little as the acrobat settled down.

"Then may I join you in your floor conversation?"  
"Why certainly." Sometimes it was just best to humor the man. Although this particular development did have its pros and cons. Keeping Dick Grayson occupied was a good thing because a bored Dick can soon become a very annoying Dick. Unfortunately, Tim wanted to work out the problem with his anti-hero a secret because it felt awfully personal, and he just knew Dick would try to pry at whatever was worrying him.

Dick in fact didn't continue the conversation, but decided to instead stare at Tim with big blue eyes. Tim found this awfully disconcerting and shifted around in discomfort. What was Dick playing at?

Dick finally decided that there was enough awkward and left. With a note in his voice that made him sound somewhat like a kicked puppy, if that were possible, he said, "I'm always here if you need me for anything okay?" He cast a big baleful blue eyed look at Tim before departing off to who knows where, leaving Tim to feel confused and talk to the floor by himself. Then a thought struck him. He's trying to guilt me into telling him! What the hell, Dick!

Tim stood up and turned around in time to see the back of Dick Grayson as he shuffled out of the room. "Did you just try to pull puppy eyes on me? You're not five years old Dick!" The acrobat's response was a chuckle as he jogged out of the room and down the hall. "God, you are such a little kid." Tim muttered in the vigilante's direction. Then he shook his head and left for his room, not even noticing that he left his cell phone, along with some spare change, in the cushions of the couch.

How could Tim have seen through his brilliant plan? No one resisted Dick Grayson's puppy eyes. He chucked to himself at the foolishness of it all and pulled on the clock. He smiled in the familiarity of the sound of gears moving and the elevator rising. When the clock finally swung out of the way, civilian Dick Grayson had been transformed into crime fighter Nightwing; albeit without the costume. It was time for work.

First things first he needed to recheck the security camera feed. It would be great to work on the mad hatter and scarecrow case but he could push it back a little while longer. If they were pulling such large amounts of money then obviously their plan was something big, which, quite obviously, would take time to plan out. He had time.

Whistling some random tune he sat down and logged on then pulled up the folder containing the security camera feed. He'd start from the time he left the cave to the time Tim entered after dinner. There was one little freeze right before Tim came in. So the person was still there as of last night. That meant this mystery man was … **_the same guy Tim was talking about. _**Dick stood up and the swivel chair rolled away from him. He fast-forwarded the tape. There was another freeze. It went from a little after Tim arrived (7:36) to when Tim logged off at around 2:00am. They had talked in the Batcave. That meant it could only be one person. **_Jason Todd_**. What had he _said _to Tim?

Timothy drake, the third robin, had lived with the impression that he had to live up to his predecessor's accomplishments. He struggled with it and even at one point, in a screaming match with Jason Todd the second and _dead _Robin, admitted that he had spent his career "wearing this mask under your shadow". All he had wanted was acceptance with his position as Robin. Recognition that he was 'doing it right'. Finally Jason had given him that respect. They had become almost-friends and the closest to real brothers that they would ever get. Did Jason forget that? Tim had broken him _out of jail, _they had _fought together, _they even had their own inside joke; the prefix '_red_' in both their vigilante names. What did the Red Hood think he was doing?

Dick turned around and glared into the cave. "Jason Peter Todd you get over here right now!"

Shit. Dick's voice echoed through the cave for a few more seconds then tapered off. Jason froze; cigarette halfway to his lips. He had been found out. But _of course _Dick would have noticed; this plan was stupid as fuck. _Okay you can get out of this, no big deal_.

"Jason! I'll come get you!" Dick yelled again. The red head in question grimaced, stuck the cigarette in his mouth and swung off his resting place. Landing on the balls of his feet with knees bent, he then shuffled along past one of the side caves holding a bat themed tank and ducked behind a support column.

Dick was a forgiving man who loved his brothers very much, but wasn't soft enough as to overlook misconduct, and if there was ever a person who appeared to have perfect control of his temper, that person would be Richard John Grayson. However when someone had crossed his moral lines, Jason had crossed quite a few, even if said person was his brother, Dick could be hell on earth. Quite literally. He _was _freaking Nightwing after all. And _man_, did Jason have a_ lot _to owe up for. He was certainly not one of the bat clan's favorite people right now. Especially not after…after… when was that anyway? It felt like it had happened almost two years ago but… no, it had to have been more recent. Just thinking about it made his head pound. In fact the pounding was getting faster and _harder_.

Unconsciously he dropped the cigarette and ground his teeth together. In an effort to fight the pain he put his head between his knees and clutched at the base of his skull like he was trying to tear it open. It didn't help; the pain got worse. He must have groaned or yelled out in pain because in between the bursts of fire and roaring noise he saw glimpses of Nightwing. Nightwing crouched down next to him, yelling and shaking him, but Jason could not hear anything or feel anything other than the madness that was transpiring within his head.

Then the pain melted away into a deep blackness that consumed his very being. And Jason welcomed it with open arms. Now there was no pain to feel; nothing but the dark and his mind.


End file.
